


The Change of the Seasons

by Kalinke



Series: Overcast [1]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Not Canon Compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-09
Updated: 2013-03-09
Packaged: 2017-12-04 19:35:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/714295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kalinke/pseuds/Kalinke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Camelot is overrun by magic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Change of the Seasons

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this story many, many years ago right after season two aired. So this story is absolutely not canon-compliant. Like, not at all.
> 
> Looked over by [elufuir](http://archiveofourown.org/users/elufuir/pseuds/elufuir)

**Winter**

Merlin is tired and the candlelight is just not enough. All he needs is just a bit more light to finish copying the recipe for Gaius. If it were summer already it wouldn’t be a problem, there’d still be sunlight…

Merlin yawns and stretches and closes his eyes, happily.

“Merlin!”

“What?” Merlin starts, opens his eyes and it is… not dark.

“Merlin!” Gaius says, eyes wide. “What are you doing?”

“I’m not doing anything,” Merlin says. But he can feel something. It. All around him. Like it’s not himself, but it is. “What am I doing?”  
Gaius sighs. “I don’t know. But… you should stop… it. You are lighting up the castle.”

Merlin shivers. “No…”

“Focus, boy. Focus on your magic.”

Merlin does and something that has become loose ties itself again back into place and the light is gone.

“Gaius, what was that?”

“I really don’t know,” Gaius says, shaking his head. 

**Spring**

Merlin uncramps his shoulders and tries to snuggle into his bed. The new straw filling of his mattress still doesn’t quite fit his body, but it smells pleasantly of harvest and late summer and Merlin drifts off into sleep dreaming about apples and pears, fresh bread and bittersweet ale.

“Merlin.”

“Merlin!” Insistent.

“Merlin, wake up!” Very insistent.

“Mhm,” Merlin protests.

“Merlin.” Now there’s frustration.

Merlin blinks his eyes open. Oh, it’s Gaius.

“Merlin. What is this?” Gaius asks, waving something in front of Merlin.

“N’apple,” Merlin says, drifting off again.

“Merlin!”

“It is an apple,” Merlin says, pulling the pillow over his head.

“I know what it is. But what I mean is: what is it?”

Merlin lifts the pillow and looks at Gaius, then at the apple. Back at Gaius.

“I don’t… know?” Merlin hopes that his eyes manage to convey something like I’m still asleep, so don’t ask me. 

“Come on, get up” Gaius says.

No, doesn’t work. “What?” Merlin asks, sitting up.

“Come on, have a look,” Gaius says, leaving Merlin’s room.

Rubbing at his eyes, Merlin gets up to follow Gaius into the work room. Oh.

“Oh.”

Gaius glares at Merlin. And then he glares pointedly at the crates full of apples and pears. The ladder is stacked with loafs of bread and every other free surface is filled with jugs of ale.

“Oh,” Merlin says again, and there really isn’t-

There is a loud knock at the door before the door swings open.

Merlin shivers and Gaius looks around the room anxiously.

“You, too?” Sir Leon asks, looking around the room.

“What a surprise. It’s not like this isn’t,” there is a dramatic pause, “everywhere.” Arthur.

Sir Leon rolls his eyes. “The King would like to talk to you.”

“Of course,” Gaius says, following Sir Leon.

“Merlin!” Arthur says, upon entering.

Merlin flinches.

“Have an apple for breakfast,” Arthur says, throwing an apple to Merlin.

Merlin catches it. Almost. “Thank you, sire,” he says, picking up the apple where it’s rolling towards the bookshelves.

“Well, Merlin, I am a generous person. As you well know. And since I only picked it from one of the crates outside…” Arthur shrugs.

“Your Highness, how very thoughtful of you,” Merlin says, eyeing the crates of apples to his left.

“You’re welcome,” Arthur says, smelling first a pear, then an apple, the pear again and finally deciding on the pear. Apple.

“Where does all of this come from?” Merlin asks.

“Magic,” Arthur says, chewing.

“What?”

“Sorcery,” Arthur explains.

“I know what… never mind. Should you be eating that? Maybe they are poisonous or something,” Merlin tries.

“Nope.”

“Nope?”

“Everybody’s eating them. Even the pigs. The horses. They are all fine. Some of the guards are already drunk… Still drunk. Whatever.”

Merlin just stares blankly.

“The ale. The guards say that things started appearing before midnight last night. Just like that. Out of thin air. First nothing… Then apples.”

Merlin blinks.

“Merlin?”

“What does your fa-… the King say?” Merlin asks.

“That it’s magic. And that it should be destroyed,” Arthur says and puts the apple core down on Gaius’ table, before picking up a pear.

“Right,” Merlin looks at the apple in his hand.

**Summer**

Merlin frowns. „Coltsfoot, plantain, lungwort and… lichen? Ah, no. Wait. Maybe it should be… Yes. Iceland moss and mullein?“ Merlin glares at Gaius’ back. “This is ridiculous,” Merlin decides.

“What is it?” Gaius asks mildly, turning around.

“I can’t remember the ingredients. Why do I have to know this anyway?” Merlin asks. And yes. Yes. He’s being very reasonable, damn it.

“Stop whining.” Gaius says, mildly amused.

“It’s not like this is of any use,” Merlin adds.

Gaius doesn’t even raise an eyebrow. Not even mildly.

But Merlin doesn’t trust Gaius’ deceptively calm expression. Because, aha! There it is. He knew it. There. His eye-brow twitched, partly in annoyance, partly in fatherly… something. Whatever Gaius is going to say, it will be in that grave tone reserved for things of great importance. It’s also possible, Merlin thinks, that there’ll be a nod to underline what Gaius is going to offer.

“Merlin. It is just tea.”

**Autumn**

The next time it happens, it has been raining for nine days. Cold. Wet. Relentlessly. There is no dry place in the castle and even Uther’s clothes seem to be damp. (Maybe not his shift. But Merlin is not going to check that. Ever.)

There is a clothesline spanning Gaius’s workroom from bookshelf to ladder. Despite wringing out their clothes over a bucket, the water just keeps dripping from Gaius’ woolen tunics and Merlin’s shirts and breeches. He hasn’t got any dry clothes left, but really, nobody in Camelot has.

Gaius sighs.

Merlin stares into the fire. Or what passes as a fire and turns his shirt. It’s almost dry now. Only a little damp. It’s not dripping anymore.

Gaius sighs. Again.

“I swear it’s not me, Gaius,” Merlin says. And if he sounds desperate than that might have something to do with how he really didn’t do it and how Gaius doesn’t believe him and how Gwen’s looking miserable and tired and Morgana, who is shivering and wouldn’t – shouldn’t, actually – leave her bed, if it weren’t wet and clammy. And Arthur who returned earlier from a four-day-search and who is angry because he couldn’t find anything to fight, but who found swamps where there used to be fields and villagers who are coughing and shivering and dying.

“I know, my boy. I know.”

And Merlin can hear what Gaius doesn’t say. But I wish you could stop this. And that’s what Merlin wants as well, but he can’t. Because it doesn’t work like this.

So later when he’s finally falling asleep in Arthur’s room, because going back to his own room… just no and in front of the fire, huddled into Hunith’s blanket (the only thing left in his cupboard) which still feels sort of dry, he dreams of rye and wheat stems brushing against his naked legs and the sun, bright and warm, and maybe even rain occasionally, summer rain, not end-of-the-world-rain. And there are birds.

And the rain stops.

Merlin leans his head against one of the columns of the castle’s colonnade. It’s the first night he’s spend sitting here instead of his room. After the rain. Merlin is tired, but he doesn’t sleep. Hasn’t slept for three days. Not because he can’t, but because he won’t. He did stop the rain. Which is good. But he can’t quite shake the feeling that he’s responsible for it in the first place. Which he isn’t. Not really. It didn’t feel like him. It was different, but magic, nevertheless.

Merlin frowns, rubs his eyes. A shadow. That’s... Arthur walking across the courtyard towards the eastern gate. Merlin gets up quickly and runs to Arthur’s room to grab a cloak and some apples. And only when Merlin reaches the eastern gate does he become aware of the absence of noise. Yet it’s nothing like Ealdor at night. And for a second Merlin can feel the presence of all of the people of Camelot. And it makes him happy.

He can’t see Arthur but he can hear faint footsteps and he follows them towards the edge of the town. And Merlin can make out a shadow moving quickly towards a group of old trees. The shadow stops moving for a short moment, just standing there like its waiting for something. And then the darkness surrounding the trees swallows Arthur and Merlin moves slowly, drawn towards the wood.

Merlin is surprised that Arthur managed to run across the field. All Merlin can do is stumble over twisted soil-plant-root-things, asking his magic in a voice that sounds far too much like a certain prat to just stop being such a girl. Or something. Because Merlin can feel his magic shift and change. It’s being bubbly and volatile and Merlin is sure that simply thinking about a bit more light to outline some kind of trail would translate into blue light seemingly coming from nowhere or an early sun rise or something equally difficult to explain. Merlin is concentrating on not thinking about light and all its variations when something strikes him down. “Ow.”

Merlin looks up at a low hanging branch and touches his head. The relief of not being attacked by a foreign knight set on destroying Camelot is soon replaced by an image of Arthur smirking at him and saying, “Well done, Merlin”. 

But Arthur doesn’t, just sits there on the wet grass, back to Merlin and he wonders if he could actually manage to sneak up on Arthur.

“Hey,” Merlin says, dropping the cloak around Arthur’s shoulders.

Arthur looks up, smiling. “Why aren’t you, you know, asleep?” Arthur asks, tying the cloak.

“I can’t sleep,” Merlin says and he can see Arthur nod.

“I know what you need,” Arthur says, “you need to work more.”

Merlin yawns, “Yes, please, My Lord.”

Merlin can see Arthur look up at him then.

“Come on, sit down,” Arthur tells him.

Merlin kneels down next to Arthur and yawns again.

“You are tired,” Arthur tells him.

Merlin just nods, dreading where this is going.

“So, why aren’t you asleep right now?”

“Because, I can’t,” Merlin hesitates. “My mind... I...” can’t control it? “My mind is just... busy.”

“Busy?”

“Yeah, seems to have a mind of its own,” Merlin says and he has to shift, because kneeling on the wet grass isn’t all that pleasant, while Arthur’s cloak is probably soft and warm. Merlin shifts some more until he sits comfortably on Arthur’s cloak.

Arthur pulls at where Merlin’s sitting then gives up and says, “If your mind is as stubborn as you are, then that’s probably not a good sign.”

Merlin smiles. “So, what about you?”

“I couldn’t sleep,” Arthur says, “like you.”

“Like me?” Merlin thinks about apples, bread and the end of endless rain.

“Couldn’t fall asleep again and then remembered this place. I haven’t been here in years...” Arthur goes quiet.

Merlin can feel Arthur tense up next to him.

“How did you know I was here?” Arthur asks then, strangely anxious.

“I followed you,” Merlin says carefully.

“You followed me? Of course,” Arthur says, and Merlin thinks he can hear traces of defeat in Arthur’s voice. But he isn’t sure. He hasn’t heard it before.

“Yes, I saw you walking towards the eastern gate and went to grab a cloak and breakfast,” Merlin says, showing Arthur two red apples.

Arthur nods and frowns and Arthur sighs and smiles and bumps his shoulder into Merlin’s, saying, “Sometimes I really am an idiot.”

Merlin grunts in agreement.

“You’re not having nightmares, are you?” Arthur asks and Merlin shakes his head, remembering the fear in Morgana’s eyes. Fear and something dark.

“No. I just can’t stop thinking.” Merlin yawns again. “And it keeps me awake.” Merlin shivers with exhaustion or cold or both.

“Come on, sleep,” Arthur tells him, wrestling Merlin down, until Merlin’s head is cushioned in Arthur’s lap and Arthur’s cloak is wrapped around him and the cloak is nice and soft.

“No, Arthur. You don’t understand. I can’t-”

“Sleep, Merlin. Now,” Arthur says, rubbing his hand along Merlin’s arm.

And Merlin falls asleep thinking that it’s nice of Arthur to rub some warmth into him.


End file.
